Part 10

Find, about half a mile from the present village, a big and important old site, which existed up to the white man's time. But dunes on which burials were made and house sites have been largely graded by a fox-farm keeper and trader, Mr. Goshaw. He had gathered many skulls--shows me a photo of two rows, at least 40--will not tell what he did with them. Says he sent "many things to the Smithsonian," but can give no details, "and to the universities," but will not mention which. Also "buried a lot." Bad business.

Gathering what is possible from the débris thrown out by the Eskimo working for the fox farm, we proceed rapidly from mound (dune) to mound. Find burials still on the surface in situ--i. e., nearly buried by the rising carpet of the vegetation--but skulls gone. Many of those on remaining heaps imperfect, but at least something can be saved. Collect all that is worth collecting. See Mr. Goshaw--get but little out of him. Donates a few archeological specimens of no great value--has no more.

We hurry on to the other village and burial ground, almost a mile west of the present settlement. Find only a small pile of bones, with one whole male skeleton of fairly recent date.

Then back, as fast as possible, the Indians carrying the bags with bones, and load on boat. My shoes and feet have long since become thoroughly wet, after which Mr. Wegner loaned me wool socks and native shoes that protected my feet. But now these must be left behind and I have to get into my wet, cold shoes--socks too wet. Officers in a hurry to get back. It is now 3.00 a. m.; the sun rose about 1.30. Pay my men, change shoes, photograph women (pl. 8) and then men--all pleasant and willing. See a few poor articles of archeological nature--not worth getting; and after a hearty handshake with the teacher we take off through the somewhat rougher water to the whaleboat, then on to the motor boat and the ship. Arrive with six bags of specimens, reaching boat just a little after 4. Sleepy captain meets us, but luckily shows no grudge, though this stop and his loss of sleep were essentially for me. Though it would seem they could have readily waited for our going ashore until morning, or have given me a little more time at the Diomedes, which would have brought us here later. Am too much awake now and worked up to sleep. Lie down a while but fully awake. Total sleep last night 2½ hours. But it was worth it, except for the vandalism.

Pack--inadequate boxes--until 3.30 p. m. Whole collection made last night put in order. But back and knees stiff. Weather two-thirds fair (my own estimate), some wind, sea choppy. Lie down but can not sleep.

At 5.30 off Kotzebue. Due to shallowness of water must anchor far out of sight. At 6 go to land in ship's larger launch. Waves rather bad, much tossing about and spray, have to get behind the canvas canopy that is raised over one seat. It is 15 miles from where the _Bear_ is anchored to the Kotzebue village--over two hours of (at times) rather violent tossing up and down and sidewise. Run for a part of the time not far from beach--a number of isolated, orderly fish camps--lots of fish drying. Wonder at not getting seasick again--it must be the open air or difference of movement.

Kotzebue village lies around a point on a not very high, flat bank, facing the bay of three rivers (Selavik, Kobuk, Noatak). As we approach I count over 50 clean tents of Eskimos, about 15 frame houses and stores, and many skin and other boats on beach or in water. Many natives hurry to meet us.

Go ashore. Thomas Berryman, the trader, with the local judge and two or three other whites come also to meet us. After getting acquainted inquire about possibility of exploring the Kobuk and reaching the Koyukuk and Yukon. But all that I learn is uncertain and discouraging. There are but few native villages on the river, all Eskimo; and higher up the water is rapid, necessitating much hauling of the boat by the natives, which is costly; upon which follow three or four days' portage. The trip would cost much, and no loads over 40 pounds to a man could be carried.

Only a few old sites hereabouts are known by those whom I have a chance to ask. Say there is a somewhat important one at Cape Krusenstern. Mr. Berryman has from there a big stone (slate) lance. He also has a huge piece of serpentine, over 80 pounds in weight, with a moderate depression in top and some cutting (old native work), said to have been used as a lamp. Wants to keep this and spearhead, but donates an old rusty tin box full of smaller things and promises to obtain skulls for us; and I get a similar promise from a man (probably one of Mr. Berryman's storekeepers) from farther up the country.

Later meet here Mr. Chance, the school superintendent of these parts; a young and not prepossessing man, but one who steadily improves on closer acquaintance. Learn from him of a skeleton recently dug out from the ground under the schoolhouse.

See many natives, all Eskimo, good looking, clean, and kind. Some mix bloods, but the majority pure. Good to moderate stature, well proportioned though not fat body, medium to somewhat lighter brown color, physiognomies less typical Eskimo than hitherto and often strongly like Indian. Too late and dusky to photograph.

Go to see the teacher and find that the skeleton he dug out was placed by him in an open box, pushed as far as possible under the rafters of the floor of the schoolhouse and covered with gravel and earth. There are four of us--start hurriedly digging for it, remove with shovel, hoe and arms about a ton of the "filling"--and can not reach the box. It is 10 p. m., the wind rising, officer comes and urges me to get back to the boat. So must leave with promise that the box will be gotten out and await me on our return from the north. Have by this time decided the best policy will be to go with the _Bear_ as far as she may go. Load empty boxes, some packing--and one of the young white men who have been digging with us runs up from the distant schoolhouse announcing that they "struck" the box. Urge him to run back as fast as he can and get it. Luckily the postmaster and a good many others who came to see us off delay us; also the transfer of the mail and boxes to the larger boat. Finally, after a good many anxious looks, I see at last the two young men appear, one with a wheelbarrow on which is the box of bones. Bones look not very old, and Eskimoid at first sight, but take box, which contains a good deal of gravel, carry it through the very interested Eskimo to the boat, all get in, hurried good-bys to everybody, and we are off.

A two and a half hours' trip once more, and the last more than half of it very rough. Such tossing and dancing and dipping and twisting, with the spray, fortunately not cold, shooting high up at times, or an angry wave splashing over. But the boat is large and strong and so eventually we reach the _Bear_, which was completely out of sight until about an hour after we started, and in a few minutes off we go to the north. A little fruit, bed, and know nothing more until near 7 the next morning. It was a long day--over 25 hours in a stretch without a wink. Yet did not feel bad; the work and good nature of people about and those met with, with some success, are good tonics.

Wednesday, July 28. All of us have to consult the calendar to be sure of the day and date.

Sort and wash Berryman's specimens--a nice lot of little things, mainly of stone, slate, flint, etc.

Then go after my bones. Find the spray made the earth and gravel in the box thoroughly wet, so that it is necessary carefully to excavate all the bones. Find a male, rather short-statured, typically Eskimo. May have been a burial of the Russian times. Wire for all details. Must dry bones. Meanwhile try to catch up with notes. Toward evening expect to be in another village. Weather fair. Have passed the Arctic Circle during night, but it is not cold nor in any way strange here. Sunset coloring lasts long and passes into that of sunrise--no real night, no stars; but moon seen late at night and far to the south.

May this weather continue, for in rough weather landing at any of these places--there are no harbors whatever and always shallows and bars and shoals--would be extremely risky or impossible and my work, for which I feel ever more eager, would suffer. If only I could see all worth seeing, and stay a little longer when I find what I am after.

We reach Kevalina. It is just a schoolhouse and about seven sod houses. Only a native school teacher, from whom I do not get much.

No remains or old site very near, but an old village, with "good many things," exists on the Kevalina River within a few hours' distance (by canoe) from Kevalina.

Natives bring old adzes (mounted by them, however), and a harpoon handle from the old site--bought.

Spend rest of day in washing, sorting, and packing specimens.

After supper am invited to the officers' room and given by Lieut. M. C. Anderson a fine selection of old ivory harpoon heads and other things. Many of these are from the old site on the St. Lawrence Island, and especially from little isles off that island named Punuk. All this strengthens the importance of those islands for regular exploration.

Thursday, July 29. In anticipation of being called up again during the night, at Point Hope, which is evidently another important spot for archeological exploration, for the natives are said to bring many old articles for sale each year, I do not undress and go to bed earlier, but have, because of the anticipation, closeness of air, and a cat jumping on my face just as I am dozing off, a very poor night; and no call came after all. In the morning there are cold showers, the sky is much clouded, and the wind keeps on blowing from the north-northwest, threatening, the officers say, to drive the ice toward this shore, which would be bad for us. It is cool and disagreeable. We have anchored to the south of the spit on which stands the village and can not unload or get ashore. Nor can the natives come here to us.

The village consists of a schoolhouse, a little mission (Rev. F. W. Goodman), an accumulation of houses, semi-subterraneans, and tents. A few tents are also seen a good distance to the right--a reindeer camp. Otherwise there is nothing but the long, low, sandy, and grassy spit projecting far out into the ocean.

Later. The north-northwest still blows, and so the ship has to anchor to the south of the long spit on the point of which is the village. Of this but little can be seen, just a few houses, and it seems near and insignificant.

The captain is evidently waiting again for the natives to come out, and I am helpless. Finally, however, a boat is made ready and I am taken to the shore with the mail. This is piled on the beach, and with two officers we start to walk toward the dwellings opposite to us, which are the mission. Heavy walking in the loose sand and gravel of the steep beach, and as we ascend it is seen the buildings which seemed so near to the shore are about a mile or more away.

A man coming toward us--the missionary, Archdeacon Goodman. Tell him my mission; says he has some business on the ship, but will come, and there will be no trouble in helping me to a "good deal of what I want," which sounds fine.

In the absence of the missionary, go to see the teacher. The school is over a mile in the direction toward the point. Find him at home and helpful. In 15 minutes, with his aid, engage two native boys, give two sacks to each, and send them out over the long flats (old beaches) to pick up every skull and jaw they can find. They go cheerfully, and we depart shortly after to see Mr. La Voy, a movie-picture man, who has been staying here for some time making movie pictures of the natives, and at the same time collecting all the antiquities they could bring him. We go to see his collection, but find him not home; has gone for mail. The rare mail in these regions is, of course, the most important of events. So back to the school (a good many rods from the sod house part of the native village to the left), and then--it is now near noon--to the mission, a good mile from the school and more from the village.

Road staked on one side with whale ribs about 2 rods distance. Flats on both sides show many parts of bleached human bones. They are a part of the old extensive burial grounds. Unfortunately, about two years ago the predecessor of the present missionary had most of the skulls and bones collected and put in a hole in the new cemetery, now seen in the distance to the right of the mission. This new burial place is surrounded by a unique whale-rib fence. Reach mission, but no one there. Does not look good. Try one building and door after another--no one--learn later that the missionary has no family. Twenty minutes to 1. Nothing remains but to go back to the school for some lunch. So leave my raincoat, camera, and remaining bags (expecting to do main work on the buried bones) and hurry back to the school, which I reach just after 1, and, thanks to their late clock, just in time for a modest lunch, but with a real hot cup of coffee. Queer that the only genuinely hot cups of coffee I got on this journey were furnished by Eskimo--for Mrs. Moyer, the wife of the teacher, is an Eskimo.

Then comes the mail and Mr. La Voy, and I go to see the latter's collection.

Find a mass of old and modern material, of stone, bone, and wood. All the older things are from an old site on the point. It is an important and large site, as found later (at least 50 houses), which the natives (getting coffee, tea, chewing gum, chocolate, candy, etc., for what they find) are now busy digging over and ruining for scientific exploration. Women dig as well as men, confining themselves to from 2 to 3 uppermost feet that have thawed; but even thus finding a lot of specimens. Bones, of course, and other things are left and no observation whatever on the site is made. It is a pity.

Mr. La Voy donates some stone objects, mainly scrapers, and then I go with a native he employs to the "diggings." Find much already turned over--one woman actually digging--but very much more still remaining. Examine everything--site evidently not ancient but of the richest--and then return with the woman to get some of her "cullings."

On the way am called by a man whose sod house (semisubterranean) we pass. We sit on the top of his house and soon establish a regular trading place, with a big flat stone as a counter. One after another the native women and men bring out a few articles, good, bad, or indifferent, lay them on the stone, I select what I want, lay so much money against the articles, and usually get them. Everybody in the best of humor. The natives surely enjoy the sport, and so do I, if only I was not hurried. Thus trade for at least an hour until my pockets are bulging. Then once more to the school and once more to the mission. In the latter get my things, as nobody is there yet, Doctor Goodman having doubtless been delayed on the boat. I hear that there are prospects of both him and Mr. La Voy going north with us on a little vacation. Send the coat with spare bags to the school by a native I meet, while I go to look at the rib cemetery and photograph it. Find the bones have been interred in its middle and a low mound raised over them, so there is for the moment nothing to do there. Therefore go over the plain a little farther, picking up a few odds and ends, a damaged skull, and finally, from a fairly recent burial box, a fine skull with its lower jaw. Then attempt to pass a pool of water and sink in the mud to above my rubber boots, so that the icy water runs in, wetting me thoroughly, and gurgling henceforth with every step in the shoes. Try to get these off but can not. The feet must be congested. So spill out all I can by raising the feet, and then do some hard walking which takes away the cold.

Evening, though no dusk approaching. Sit on gravel to empty more water from shoes, but can still hardly get one off. And just as I succeed I see, across another long pool, two men, one with a cap of an officer of the ship, waving their arms, evidently signifying to me that the time is up and I am to return. Call to them to wait. Impossible to make them hear me or for me to hear them. All here is elusive--enchanted-like--distances, sounds. Finally they stop. I catch up with them after passing a broad ditch, and learn that the ship is about to sail and they are waiting for me. My coat, however, and collections are still at the school, over a mile away, so once more it is necessary to hurry to the school and then back to the ship. So things go when promises go wrong and one is alone under a constant apprehension.

The boys collected four bags full. Moreover, they undertook to bring them toward the boat, and are bringing the last two just as I approach the beach. There are Eskimos on the beach with dog teams and sledges waiting to cart off what was unloaded from the ship. Photograph one of the teams and then on into the boat and to the _Bear_ with the four bags, a box full, part of another bag, and all pockets full of specimens. Only to learn when we reach the boat that both Doctor Goodman and Mr. La Voy are going with us and that the former after supper is still to go and get his things from the mission. I have no boat to go back with, and so lose several hours.

July 30. Gloomy morning, windy, cool, sea not good. Do not feel easy. But need to pack. One of the officers, Boatswain Berg, lends me his short sheepskin coat, and I pack up to lunch. The sea is getting worse. Have but little lunch and soon after have to take to bed or would again be sick. To avoid the pitching of the end of the boat where my bed is I go to the dispensary and lie until 6. From 6 on the sea moderates somewhat, so that I am able to have a little supper. After that go to officers' wardroom, play two games of checkers with the doctor, get some more specimens from two of the officers, and retire.

When I boarded the _Bear_ it became plain to me that I must earn as much as possible the sympathetic understanding of my work by both the officers and the crew, and so I gave two talks, one to the officers and the other to the men, telling them of our problems in Alaska, of the meaning and value of such collections as I was making, and of other matters that I felt would be useful on this occasion. As a result I had throughout the voyage nothing but the friendliest feelings of all and their cooperation. Sincere thanks to the officers and the crew of the _Bear_, from the captain downward.

Saturday, July 31. At 4.30 a. m. suddenly a heavy bump forward, followed by several smaller ones. Ship rises and shivers. Have struck ice floes. Going very slowly. Further bumps at longer or shorter intervals and occasionally the ship stops entirely. Sea fortunately much calmer.

Up at 7. We are in a loose field of ice--aquamarine-blue ice covered with hillocks of snow, all shapes and sizes, as after a hard winter on the Hudson, only floes mostly larger and especially deeper.

Soon after breakfast hear walrus and seals had been observed on the ice, and shortly before 9 the captain comes down hurriedly to tell us they have just spied--they now have a man in the crow's nest up on the foremast--a white bear.

Run up--everybody pleasurably excited--to the front of the ship. See a black-looking head of something swimming toward a large ice floe about 500 yards in front of us. As we approach the head reaches the floe, then a big yellowish paw comes out upon the ice, then the shoulders, and finally the whole bear. The officers hurry forward, each with a gun. Soon men all there. Some one fires. Bear stands broadside watching us. The bullet goes way over. Then other shots--still missing--water spouting high in many places. Bear bewildered, does not know what to do, lopes off a little here and there, stops again, looking at us, and now--we are less than 100 yards from him it seems--a bullet strikes him above the loin--we can see him jerk and the red spot following. He runs clumsily, but other shots follow, some seemingly taking effect, and then he drops, first on his belly, then, twisting, turns over on his back. A few more movements with his paws and head, and he lies still, quite dead. Can not but feel sorry for the poor bear, who did not know why he was being killed, and had no chance.

A motor boat is lowered and goes to get him. They find on the floe the remains of a seal on which he fed. Tie a rope to him, drag him into the water, tow him to the _Bear_, which has stopped and where all stand on the bows in expectation and with all sorts of cameras, and prepare to hoist the brute aboard. Captain says it is the second case of this nature in 20 years. Ropes are fastened about the big body, attached to a winch, and the big limp form is hauled up, though not without some difficulty, due to its size and weight. All stand about him, examine, photograph. They will let the natives at Wainwright skin it and give them the flesh. It is a middle-sized, full-grown male. It shows only two wounds, the one in the side and one where the bullet passed through his mouth, knocking out one of the canines.

Cold--must put on second suit of underwear. Very gloomy, but storm abated. No land in sight--above Cape Lombard all is flat. It rains in that direction. We meander among the floes, now and then bumping and shivering. Should a wind come up and blow the ice landward we would be in danger of being closed in and stopped or delayed.

Evening. Arrive off Wainwright. Village recent--older site 20 miles away. People the usual type of Eskimo. Visit the village, but soon return.

After supper the boat stops--fear the ice. Another passenger is added here, Jim Allen, the local trader, with a bagful of white fox skins and a bear skin. Conditions becoming a bit crowded.

Sunday, August 1. No movement to-day. They are apprehensive of the ice, and so we stay here, the one place of all where there is nothing for me to do. Of course there are the natives, but with the constant uncertainty as to when we shall start and a lack of facilities I can not do much with them.

The weather is quiet but still cloudy, though the sun may possibly peep out. Ice seen in the offing. Would be more interesting to be in it, as yesterday. The bear has been skinned, cut up, and we shall try some of its flesh at noon. Rest of day quiet but still mostly cloudy, though occasionally a little of pale, lukewarm sun. At 3.30 give lecture to the officers and fellow passengers on the subject of evolution. Seems quite appreciated. Reading, writing, and walking the deck fills the time. Ate a little of the bear meat--somewhat tough, otherwise not much different from reindeer or even beef. If better prepared (especially roasted on coals) would be quite palatable.

Yesterday there were several flurries of snow, none to-day, but air cold enough to make a long stay outside disagreeable.

Toward evening Captain announces that he is going to try to reach Barrow, about 80 miles northeastward, and soon after supper we start. He also tells me we may be there at or not long after midnight and so to be ready, for the boat will be unable to stop more than an hour or two. As the only place where a few skulls and bones may be found is about 1½ miles outside of the village and it takes a good 30 minutes to make a mile over the tundras, I shall have to rush once more. But I am promised a man to help me.